Morocco: First Meal in Marrakesh

Ok....so it was on a whim. Blame it on a glimpse of a "cheesy" tourist poster promoting Morrocco that hung in a Madrid travel agency window. Tim and I were already vacationing in Spain, a well studied trip, much like our other vacations. Hours spent on the web, in book stores and libraries to study what to do, what to see and what to learn about the basic customs of the country we were about to visit. But enter....the "wild hair" moment. Yes, I did it. I admit it was my idea to go to Morrocco last minute. My husband Tim was the usual willing accomplice. Within an hour, our plans to Catalonia were nixed and we were set on a Royal Air Morac flight with other sun seeking Europeans the next day.

As we entered our "five star" hotel, aka, the little Beirut Bed and Breakfast, we soon realized, the star system was a bit skewed in Africa. As I drew the curtains in hopes to reveal the bustling markets of Marrakesh or maybe even a skyline traced with the roofs of Riads, at first look at the hulled out empty buildings, dust devils swirling in the red-dusted abandoned roads, we quickly re-named our hotel a "little Beirut". Use your own imagination.

Can I redeem myself at this point? Of course, food can do this, the true great redeemer. But I did remember that some of the tour books I peaked at in the Madrid airport said dinners and nightlife didn't start till about 10pm or so, but goodness, at 7:30 we are starving. And if the scenery outside our window was any indication of how the hotel restaurant food would taste, I was ready to explore the city.

Heading the call of our grinding stomachs and promise of pigeon pie, we piled into a Marrakesh cab. We tell him to drop us off at the infamous Djemmaa el-Fna market square. RIght off the bat, we see a gorgeous restaurant entrance, luring our growling guts to the exotic tastes inside. As we enter the front foyer, it's dark, there's no host, noo music, no life at all. We find stairs to our left. What the heck. We climb them hoping to find the thriving Marrakesh nightlife we heard about.

So now we are on the roof of this Riad restaurant. We finally see something familiar. A bar lit by flickering votive candles. Thank, goodness, we didn't just walk into someones house! A local, possibly a line cook, bar -back or "busser" blandly greets us and says to sit. We sit. Alone. Not one other guest. At this point, my heart starts to pound. The heavy-duty quite starts to really unravel my nerves. Then, from the looming minuet in the distance a haunting, chilling chant from the Imam starts pouring out to all those who know, it's the last prayer for the night.

Who were we to know...I just wanted some really good lamb tagine. So after a few minutes of holding my husband's hand so tightly, it turned white, the chanting stopped and the feeling we were intruding on someones private religious ceremony started to ease.

Then it happened. People started to arrive. Party by party, dining guests filled the rooftop restaurant, their smiling faces revealed by the flickering candles on the tables. Good news, my hunger comes back. Fear has subsided and the usually sounds of glass wines clinking and forks hitting porcelain soothe the hair standing on the back of my neck.

So now comes the lesson. You leave for a third world country, not originally on your travel itinerary and no one at home knows where you are. This is when you realize you really should have spent the $14 on that tour book and the $20 on a phone call to your mother. I will say though, this was one of the best meals in my life. Fear must heighten the sense of taste! The cinnamon spiked tagines and slow roasted vegetable made every cultural mistake well worth the panic!